


Catching Up With The Sun

by Meatball42



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Dialogue Light, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Mind Meld, Multi, POV Inanimate Object, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the fall of 1974, Jack Harkness, Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato are captured while they investigate a string of disappearances that stretch back to the forties. In a horrifying twist of fate, they find themselves transformed into inanimate objects, and there is no help in sight. Unable to speak, move independently or even breathe, what can Jack the pocket watch do to save the world from invasion, his team from insanity, and himself from a broken heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Incredible beta done by Tech Duinn on ff.net, mind-blowing artwork done by charie_caphine on LJ. They are the polish and shine on this piece, and without them it would be that rusty car in the backyard that I pretend was left by a previous owner.

_'So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking_  
_Racing around to come up behind you again._  
_The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,_  
_Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.'_

~‘Time,’ by Pink Floyd

 

“You guys ready?” Jack tossed a grin at his two teammates and the rare sunshine of a September morning in Cardiff gleamed off his pearly whites.

Owen scowled back. “Let’s just get this over with.” He patted his hip holster as a last-minute check to his handgun and strode down the street toward their target.

Jack smiled widely at his other companion, Toshiko, who grimaced in return. It had been nearly four months since Jack had insisted to the Director of Torchwood Three that they needed a new medic. Jack hated most of the current team, and they him; Jack though Torchwood was too hostile toward aliens and they believed he was plotting to take over.

With Toshiko’s support, Jack had managed to save the doctor from having the death of his wife retconned out of him, and the three of them had become a close team since then. Even when he was too cynical or abrasive, like today, Jack was glad to have Owen. While Jack had a certain amount of freedom from Torchwood, Toshiko’s ten-year mandatory contract was only half-way through; she wouldn’t be completely free from the organization until 1979. If Jack had to disappear at a moment’s notice, he would hate to leave her alone.

Jack shrugged off the dark thoughts and offered the woman his elbow . “Shall we catch a kidnapper, my dear?”

Tosh tugged a device from her bag and stepped forward without taking his arm. The antennae sticking out made it look like one of the mobile phones that would, Jack knew, become popular in the next few years. He peered over her shoulder to see it better.

“The energy we’ve been tracing definitely seems to be focused in the antiques shop.” Tosh surmised from her screen.

“So it looks like Bilis Manger is our guy.” The captain frowned as they approached Owen, who was waiting impatiently in front of the shop. “I wonder what he’s been doing with them. Nearly fifty people in thirty years. Is he slave trafficking, organ harvesting, is he just another serial killer who happened to find some helpful alien technology?”

“How about we ask him, seeing as that’s what we’re meant to be doing,” Owen said pointedly. “We haven’t got all day.” He grabbed the handle to the shop and tugged it open violently; the bell hanging above the door tinkled and the three Torchwood agents entered.

The shop was well-lit, antiques gleaming throughout the large main room. Though there were several tables and shelves along the walls, along with some glass viewing boxes, the shop seemed tidy and well-kept. As though on cue, a prim old man emerged from a back room. Jack recognized him from the surveillance photos. This was their suspect, Bilis Manger.

“Ah, welcome to Lively Antiques. I hope you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.” The man’s salt and pepper hair was slicked back neatly, and he wore an old-fashioned red and white polka dot cravat. He spread his arms out, inviting them to look around the store. Toshiko gave him a cool smile and did just that, beginning to examine the tables for any clues while Owen stood behind Jack for support.

“We’re here to speak to you, Mr. Manger,” Jack said, aiming for firm yet polite. They didn’t know yet how dangerous Manger was, but if he really had kidnapped nearly fifty people without being detected, Jack thought it was probably safer to remain civil for the time being.

“Are you the police?” Manger asked, sounding slightly startled; the glimmer in his eyes told Jack an entirely different story. “How may I be of assistance?”

“We’re investigating a few disappearances in the area. Do you know any other these people?” Jack removed several photographs of the most recent victims from his coat pocket and spread them on one of the glass counters. All the photos were of victims whose disappearances coincided with mysterious energy bursts in this area of Cardiff.

Manger took several moments to examine the photos, then shook his head. “I’m very sorry that I couldn’t be of any help, officer.” His apologetic smile was just a bit too wide.

“Thank you for your time,” Jack said flatly. He collected the photos, then turned to leave with Owen and Toshiko.

Before they reached the door, Jack felt a wave of something come over him, some sort of energy. Before he could call out to his teammates, they had fallen to the ground. Before his eyes, their bodied changed color, shrunk and shifted, being molded like colored clay until a fez and a teacup sat on the floor in front of him.

As he watched his friends transformed before him, Jack was horrifically aware of the same changes happening to himself. It felt like he was made of plastic, like the rest of the world had become blurred paints and spilled this way and that along a canvas. Only Toshiko and Owen were clear, and Jack’s last thought before he passed out was shame that he couldn’t protect them.

 

 

While Jack sluggishly dragged himself back to consciousness after his transformation, he felt like he was covered in something slimy and cold, and he was swamped with nausea. Instead of a flesh and blood body with two arms, two legs, a head that he could move at will, Jack found himself less than two inches tall and with no control whatsoever over his body. His back half was made of silver and an elegant crystal plane protected his face, upon which three hands moved steadily around. He had a loop atop him that was meant for a fob.

In other words, Jack had been turned into a pocket watch.

He had less than ten seconds to get over the shock of his condition before the huge, lined face of Bilis Manger appeared before Jack’s crystal face. Bilis spoke and wiped a cloth over Jack’s crystal face and metal casing, but Jack couldn’t hear him. He could only see the man’s thin lips moving, and for a moment the isolation drove his panic up another notch.

Then Manger walked away, and Jack saw that he had been placed on a shelf with a view of the entire shop. He immediately spied the bright red shade of Toshiko’s fabric across the room on a hat stand, but it took a several minutes of determined searching before he found Owen in a display case with other porcelain figures, nearly hidden from Jack’s view.

It was only once he’d calmed down that an odd feeling became apparent to him. Radiating from beside him was a sense of pity and comfort. Jack tried to focus and figured out that the emotions were radiating from a brass alarm clock that was placed next to him on the shelf. A new wave of repulsion swept over him as Jack wondered how many of the ‘Lively Antiques’ had once been alive.

Jack discovered the limitations of the transformation over time. He could see through his crystal face, but many of the objects relied solely on the emotions they could sense from their fellow transformed individuals. Jack couldn’t hear anything at all, but he could feel vibrations and touch. Usually the hands of customers were brisk and made him feel nauseous as they turned him this way and that through the air.

From his spot on the shelf, Jack watched hundreds of customers enter the shop and buy various ‘antiques,’ unaware that they were touching and, in some cases, taking home a trapped person. Jack felt sick when a customer inspected all the porcelain in Owen’s case. The woman’s finger dipped inside Owen and swirled around, probably looking for dust. It made Jack sick to consider how invaded his friend must have felt.

Occasionally, life in the shop would be interrupted by Manger bringing in his latest victim, their shock and fear screaming out through the room. Many of the transformed people would reach out to the newcomers, as the brass alarm clock had for Jack. For some, however, the shock of transformation was too great, and no one was able to reach them. Other times the transformed people would all panic in unison when one of the truly ‘Lively Antiques’ was tossed about carefully or even dropped on the ground.

The worst part of it was the boredom. In between the fear of being broken or taken away from the shop into the dangerous world, Jack could practically feel his mind atrophying from the boredom. For someone who had spent the last hundred years going from bar fights to adventures to friendly beds to wars and everywhere in between, the enforced stillness was agony. The constant ticking of his face made it impossible for him not to know exactly how long it had been since he had moved of his own accord, since he’d last breathed, or spoken, or had his true skin touched.

The rest of the Torchwood team came to the shop a week after they had been captured, but they had clearly not been very interested in the investigation. Jack would have strangled the Director with his own hands in that moment- and he’d felt the sentiment echoed from the other objects, once they’d understood what was going on- if he had been able to move. After they left, unhindered by Manger, Jack had begun to lose hope that he and the other ‘antiques’ would ever be turned back into themselves.

For eleven years, ten months, two weeks, six days, sixteen hours, forty minutes and thirteen seconds, Jack lived on a dusty shelf in the corner of the shop. Toshiko was purchased in the fourth year by a pale and excitable man wearing a red bowtie. Other transformed people had come and gone, but there were still a few who had been in the shop for years even before the Torchwood agents had arrived.

Due to his now-impeccable time sense, Jack knew it was August 13, 1986 when the man entered the shop. He stepped in quietly, the bell above the doorframe tinkling politely. Jack felt a moment of pity for the bell, who had once been a man. After years of being beaten by the door every day, the man’s presence had vanished and none of the other objects could reach him.

The new customer was stately. Tall, well-groomed and professionally dressed in a crisp suit, Jack estimated that he was around thirty-five years old. He was greeted by Bilis Manger and gave the old man a bland smile before beginning to browse the shop. He quickly approached the shelf with the time pieces. When his eyes lit upon seeing Jack‘s shiny silver casing, Jack knew his time had come.

The man picked him up and held him close to stormy gray eyes, and Jack was distracted from his dread by the warmth of his hand. It seeped into Jack’s metal casing and he basked like a snake in the sun, barely aware of anything besides the long-missed sensations of warmth and touch. He was unaware of what was happening around him until he was hit by the cold air outside the shop and dropped into a deep pocket, the transformed bell tinkling somewhere behind. He had been bought.

Over the next few days, he was given to a watchmakerto be cleaned and inspected. Jack welcomed the flurry of new sensations- although being polished tickled something awful- and appreciated every swipe of cloth over his crystal face, every firm twist of gears and every velvety drop of oil that made him run smoothly again. Although he had never stopped ticking, he’d gotten a rather bad rust problem over the years.

After enduring a few days in a dark and silent cloth-lined box, Jack found himself shaken and dragged into a bright room filled to the brim with young children. From the weathered, broad hands of the man who had purchased him, Jack was passed to the plump, sticky, unwieldy paws of a young child ** _._** If he could have, Jack probably would have screamed as he saw the approach of a gaping, gooey, cavernous mouth, but when the child bit down on his casing he was too shocked to move even if he’d been able.

One tiny canine tooth met the edge of Jack’s casing and his crystal face cracked. It wasn’t a huge crack; in fact, it was so miniscule that it would be hard to see without a magnifying glass. But to Jack it was large and allowed him to feel the breath of the young boy who had made the mark.

_Ianto._

Until that moment Jack had been afraid of what would happen if his pocket watch form was damaged or broken. He had been lonely away from the comfort of the other objects in the shop. But in that instant, even the ever-present boredom was absolutely overcome by his sense of the boy. In a second’s time Jack knew that Ianto was usually quiet and responsible, but today he was excited about his birthday party- he was turning three. He was happy that all of his friends had come over and he was hoping to get a puppy. He knew that Ianto liked the vanilla cake his parents had gotten him but wished it was chocolate, and also that he would be going to wash the stickiness off his hands as soon as present time was over. Most of all, Jack could feel Ianto’s true childish joy, and it shocked him to the core.

Jack’s tiny body was suffused with the child’s emotions and dreams. The sensations were so powerful that he barely noted being tugged away from Ianto’s hands until the word ‘No!’ pierced his consciousness.

Jack hadn’t heard a word spoken since he’d been transformed. The objects in the shop could only communicate through their emotions and he couldn’t hear the words of the customers. To some extent, he’d stopped thinking in words. When he heard that ‘No!’ accompanied by a spike of fear and anger, he knew they belonged to Ianto. Those emotions were the brightest things he’d felt in years.

The hand that tore him from Ianto was softened by lotion, but it harshly slapped him into another hand, making Jack dizzy. Jack landed face-up and recognized the man who’d bought him from the shop. The man’s hand closed around him, but between the fingers Jack watched as he was brought into a master bedroom.

When he spied the cloth-lined box, Jack began praying desperately to a God he had never believed in, but it was to no avail. He was placed face-up in the box, and the last thing he saw for fourteen years was the man’s uncaring face as he lowed the box’s cover and shut out all of Jack’s light.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack had expected to go mad when he was trapped in the box, but he didn’t. From the moment that Ianto’s tiny tooth had cracked his crystal face, Jack could sense him every moment of every day. He could feel the every time the child smiled, cried, was excited or afraid. Jack felt it when Ianto scraped his knee in day care and when he got a stomachache from eating too much licorice. He knew that Ianto found potty training extremely amusing and loved to watch cartoons and play with dinosaurs. Jack was amused and then amazed by how these simple things were so huge to Ianto and could bring so much enjoyment. It had been so long since he had felt such vivid emotions that he decided that something good may have come from being turned into a pocket watch after all.

When Ianto was four, Jack felt his confusion and grief when his mother died. It was overwhelming to a young child and Jack tried to send back comforting emotions, just as he had to the newly transformed objects in Lively Antiques, but he didn’t know if Ianto could feel him. None of the humans in the shop had ever been able to.

Ianto’s world, previously a bright place filled with loving family and close friends, darkened as time went on. Ianto’s father moved them out of their family’s house onto a council estate, away from all of Ianto’s friends. Ianto’s sister never had time to play with him anymore, and the young boy was often left alone in the flat after school. He took to reading books, and although his mind expanded and became richer from the stories, Jack missed the energetic boy who felt safe running around and screaming in his front yard.

The first time Ianto’s father hit him was the first time Jack felt a sensation through their connection. The sting of the skin on Ianto’s face, the acidic smell of alcohol, had Jack vowing to take the man apart before Ianto had even figured out what was going on. On principle, Jack had no mercy for people who mistreated their children. In a more personal way, experiencing Ianto’s lack of understanding and the betrayal he felt forced Jack to recall his own childhood after his city had been invaded.

Jack shared Ianto’s excitement as his teeth came in, his dread of the first day of school, his laughter on the playground, his hatred of ice cream. As the boy grew up, Jack felt like a father, a brother and a playmate, albeit one that was stuck in a box in the shape of a pocket watch. When good things happened, like when Ianto won a spelling award in fourth grade, or bad things, like his father sending the crying boy to bed without dinner one night, Jack wished more than anything that he could be human again, to celebrate with or comfort the boy.

As Ianto got older, things changed. He discovered bullies in fifth grade and girls in sixth, and boys in ninth. His emotions started getting more turbulent, more mature. By the time he was fourteen Jack had begun wishing he could turn down the connection whenever teenage angst reared its ugly head. Even worse was when Ianto’s libido turned on. Jack felt the horror of parents everywhere magnified a hundred-fold when he could actually  _feel_  Ianto wanking off. He tried to close his mind as much as he could during those times.

When Ianto’s yearning to escape his father’s anger and the emptiness of their flat came to a head, he turned to the wrong sort of crowd. Jack grew increasingly worried as Ianto was pressured into doing things he normally wouldn’t have done. Ianto was afraid that the other boys would think badly of him if he didn’t participate in their ‘games’ of thievery and disturbing the peace. When he was finally arrested for shoplifting Jack was relieved, even though Ianto was filled with shame.

After nearly twelve years of depression and alcoholism, Ianto’s father died of liver cancer, much to Jack’s consternation. He’d been hoping to kill the man himself. Ianto was a maelstrom of regret and grief, but also relief and anger. It was too much for him, and Jack could feel the peace inside him when the seventeen-year-old decided to leave Cardiff.

Jack panicked. His connection to Ianto was the only thing that was keeping him sane. He had been able to feel Ianto as far away as his college, but Ianto’s itchy feet were aiming much farther away. Jack didn’t know how long he would be able to survive alone with his thoughts.

Four hours after the funeral, Jack’s box was opened. Although he hadn’t seen anything besides darkness in fifteen years, two months, twenty-nine days, five hours, forty-two minutes and forty-eight seconds, he had no pupils to react to the light. The first thing he saw was a woman’s face, young and tear-streaked, while she maneuvered him with gentle but efficient fingers.

When Ianto’s sister placed Jack in his hand, Jack felt a sense of rightness that he didn’t understand. He was brought close to Ianto’s face for inspection, and from the look in the young man’s blue-gray eyes Jack knew that Ianto felt something of their connection.

For the next two years, Jack never left Ianto’s side. As the young man drifted from job to job, city to city, Jack shared his adventures. Cradled safely inside Ianto’s inner jacket pocket at all times, Jack traversed much of Scotland and England. Ianto took on odd jobs, whatever came up. By the time they reached London, he’d already worked as a busboy, a grocer, a barista, a bookstore clerk and a ticket salesman at a movie theater. He took to caressing Jack’s casing in his pocket while he worked and always used Jack to check the time.  
  
It was during this time that Ianto got Jack a fob. As he was on a budget, Ianto did a lot of his shopping at second-hand or antique stores, and he always made it a point to look for a fob for Jack. Jack was ambivalent on the subject: he didn't want to be swung around, since he could still get dizzy, but the search always made Ianto happy, even when he wasn't otherwise. The day Ianto estatically found the perfect silver fob was one of resignation for Jack, with a healthy dash of fear, but Ianto attached it lovingly and continued to treat Jack with respect, keeping him clean and un-swung. Ianto took to having the fob hang out of his pockets in the classic design, and Jack surprised himself by enjoying the sensation. It reminded him of wearing clothes.

Jack discovered that when he was so close to Ianto, their connection grew stronger. The emotions he could feel from the young man became more vivid. When Ianto thought about something hard enough, like his latest tosser boss or his mother, Jack could sometimes catch glimpses of images or hear Ianto’s thoughts.

As much as Jack had clung to the connection with Ianto while he was in the box, these new developments made him feel guilty. He’d spent years trying to get back at the Time Agency for stealing his memories, but he thought that this kind of invasion could be even worse. He knew Ianto’s secret thoughts, his darkest feelings, and his only consolation was that sometimes, Ianto told him these things without using their connection.

Wherever Ianto slept, whether it was in a shady motel, on the couch of a friend’s flat or in the backseat of a dinky car he’d rented, Ianto would take Jack out of his pocket and rest him beside his head, curl the fob around his fingers, and fall asleep to the constant sound of Jack’s ticking. Sometimes, in the dead of night, Ianto would whisper to him the things he could never tell anyone else.

The day Ianto was recruited to Torchwood One was filled with an electrifying mix of elation and terror for Jack. He hoped the London office would be able to detect his presence so he could regain his own body at long last. On the other hand, he wanted Ianto to be safe, and Torchwood was never the place for that. He was further confused by Ianto’s feelings, which mixed pride that he had been chosen with dread in case something went wrong.

On the morning of Ianto’s first day at Torchwood, Jack was feeling hopeful. He practiced yet again what he would say to the astonished agents who managed to turn him back into a human, as he would need to assure them he was neither alien nor dangerous. He practiced what he would say to Ianto, which was more difficult than it should have been considering he’d had fifteen years to think about it.

As though Ianto could sense his anxiety, he smoothed a finger over Jack’s crystal face, relaxing the transformed man instantly. Ianto dressed for work in the smartest suit he‘d been able to afford; Jack was tucked into one pocket of his waistcoat with the fob draped artfully across to the other pocket.

Jack felt ready to burst when Ianto crossed the plane of Torchwood One’s front entrance, but nothing happened. No alarms, no flashing lights, no Torchwood agents bearing down on them, guns blazing.

Ianto was sent to orientation, where he was briefed on safety and security protocols. If Jack could have rolled his eyes or fallen asleep, he would have done both. The most interesting part of the process was when the new hires were shown a picture of the Doctor and told that he must be apprehended and contained. Ianto memorized the instructions and Jack was amused that London thought they could hold the Doctor so easily.

Ianto was assigned a desk in the archives, far away from any action or danger. While Jack might have wished for more adventure, he was content that Ianto was as safe as it was possible to be within Torchwood. Ianto took him out of his pocket every morning and set him on the desk, where he had a nice view of archive documents. Even though this was clearly an accidental move on Ianto’s part, Jack was grateful for the chance to read something again.

Although there were alien attacks and dangerous artifacts passing through the Archives, Ianto was only a junior researcher and was kept away from anything that could cause him harm. The excitement at the new world that had opened up to him and the feelings of security that came from his first real job made Ianto happier than Jack had ever felt him before. Ianto being happy made Jack happy, at least until they met Lisa.

The young lady worked in the next office over and was introduced to Ianto at a workplace sensitivity seminar. The first time he saw her Ianto’s heart panged and warmth spread through his body.

If he’d had eyes, Jack might have cried.

It was agonizing to listen to Ianto’s conflicted emotions, which at times slid from merely sappy to completely adoring of the beautiful Lisa. Since she was on Ianto’s mind so often, Jack was treated to replays of every one of Ianto’s shy attempts to talk to her, not to mention the young man‘s daydreams. He felt a burning anger when Lisa responded and took to Ianto almost as quickly as he had to her.

They started dating, and Jack began to feel like a prisoner trapped within their budding romance. Their sweet first kiss, the secret smiles, and Ianto’s joy when they held hands were all private things, but Jack couldn’t get away from them. For the first time, he found himself truly wishing that the connection with Ianto would just go away.

As the couple got serious, Ianto began to leave Jack at home more and more often. Lisa liked it when Ianto dressed more casually and he took to leaving off the waistcoat and sometimes the jacket when he went to work. On the weekends he would don jeans and go for walks with Lisa, or to clubs or picnics or camping, and despite the distance Jack could feel every time Ianto laughed with or touched Lisa, even as dust gathered on his metal casing.

Jack tried to ignore the pain that he felt. He wanted Ianto to be happy, to live a long, good life filled with love and companionship. He shouldn’t feel abandoned just because he wasn’t the only person in Ianto’s life anymore. He shouldn’t feel betrayed, since Ianto didn’t even know he was more than a simple timepiece. He shouldn’t feel jealous- no. Jack Harkness did not get jealous.

Then again, Jack Harkness had never stayed with someone for fifteen years.

When the battle began, Ianto was storing an item in the basement Archives. It was this stroke of fate that Jack would later thank the universe for time and time again, since the random coincidence was probably the only thing that saved Ianto’s life. Ianto’s hand began to sweat and slide on Jack’s crystal face as the ghost shift began, but when the Archive suddenly went into lockdown, Ianto almost squeezed the life out of him. No matter what codes Ianto typed into the computer, no matter how much he shouted for help and tried to lever the door open again, it stayed resolutely shut for two hours, twenty-five minutes and fifty-eight seconds.

Jack could feel each and every one of those seconds. He spent them forcing himself not to panic, trying to be patient. Ianto, on the other hand, was a mess. Horrible images he’d seen in the archives flew through his head, nightmares of the vicious aliens he’d read about attacking his colleagues, his friends,  _Lisa_. Jack tried to send calmness through their connection, but, as ever, Ianto didn’t notice.

The door only opened in the end because the electricity keeping them shut went out. Ianto dragged open the heavy metal door by himself and raced for the stairwell, Jack’s casing creaking in his tight grip and his fob dangling in the air. The first two floors they ran past were deserted, and when they entered the third, they discovered why.

There was no blood, but pain and terror filled the faces of an entire room full of Ianto’s colleagues, strewn lifelessly on the spotless carpets. The images were so strong in Ianto’s mind that Jack could see them clearly, and terror made Ianto’s breath come faster. Knowing of dozens of weapons which could fit the profile, Jack prayed that Ianto would take advantage of his luck to escape from the building. His hopes went unheard as Ianto fled the scene and continued his rush up the Tower.

Ianto’s shock upon seeing the bodies of coworkers strewn about his own office made his hands tremble and Jack began to feel afraid, despite his experience. He’d gone into missions- hell, he’d gone into wars- prepared for his death or capture, or those of the men and women behind him. But this was worse because it was  _Ianto_  who could be killed, and there was no way Jack could even try to protect him.

On the seventh floor Ianto found a terrified woman sobbing under a desk. Jack couldn’t hear what she was saying, but Ianto’s imagination of the creatures that had invaded Torchwood One was enough for Jack to identify them. He had not felt such a magnitude of terror since the last time he’d encountered the Daleks. Every inch of his small being screamed for Ianto to leave with the woman, but all Ianto considered was Lisa’s safety, not his own. They kept climbing.

As they approached the highest floors Ianto gasped at the screams of the dying, then choked on the cloying taste of blood and burnt flesh. He thought of Lisa and ignored all the warning signs, plunging into the first conversion room they came across.

Though he was afraid for Ianto’s life and his own, Jack couldn’t help but admire his determination and strength. He searched room after room, coughing, eyes burning, calling Lisa’s name through a throat that stung more and more from the smoke. He ignored even the pain-filled cries of his own colleagues, stopping only once to hold the hand of a close friend as he took his last breaths. Jack recognized him as the man who’d introduced Ianto to Lisa. His legs had been cut off at the knees and replaced with shimmering metal. Ianto waited until he was sure the man was gone, then angrily wiped his streaming eyes and kept searching.

When they finally found her, Ianto could do nothing but stare. Her arms and legs were covered in strips of metal and bolted down to the contraption upon which she laid. It resembled a giant cradle, but the scalpels and saws that hung above her proved there was nothing nurturing about the machine. Jack could clearly see her dark brown skin, slick and gleaming with her own blood. Dark streams bled into her agonized face from metal headgear that looked like it had been bolted straight into her skull. Something perversely resembling a metal bikini had been attached to her torso.

She called out to Ianto, and the Welshman forced himself to move closer in small steps until he could touch her bloody, broken hand. Jack could feel Ianto shaking as he reached out to touch Lisa’s cheek and brush away the blood and tears from her face.

Ianto moved behind the machine where hundreds of wires attached it to an oddly-shaped power source. He began pulling out the wires and for a moment Jack thought he’d realized that he would have to kill Lisa. Then he felt the newly forming hope in Ianto’s mind and wanted to cry.

By the time Lisa was unhooked from the machine rescue was on its way. Jack could feel the vibrations of the sirens and the helicopters, and then the electricity came back on, instantly triggering the sprinkler system. If Jack had been outside he would have stopped them from returning electricity to the building, but as it was the water reacted with many of Torchwood’s damaged technologies. The large artifact elevator Ianto dragged Lisa into was half-filled with chemical smoke that made Ianto’s coughing even more forceful and painful.

Once Lisa could no longer see the other half-converted Torchwood agents, her breathing shifted from fast and panicked, a human reaction, to the measured, slow breaths of someone unnaturally calm. From the part of Jack’s face that wasn’t covered by Ianto’s clutching hand, he observed her blank expression and he realized what she truly was. Ianto’s breaths had turned into rough wheezing and he was heading toward shock, and Lisa’s body and mind had been taken over by the monster responsible.

Ianto used the emergency teleport in the Archives to send his girlfriend to an abandoned warehouse that had been secured as a last resort in case of invasion. As soon as she was safe, all the adrenaline in Ianto's body dried up. Already dizzy and oxygen-deprived from the chemical fumes, he crumpled in near silence to the floor of the Archives.

Jack spun out of Ianto’s slack hand and rolled away from him. He could only watch in agony as Ianto’s pale, limp body was carried away by the UNIT response team.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Ianto came back for him. He blew off the soot from Jack’s face, wiped away the blood and the grime that clotted the edges of his casing. He sat down at an untouched desk and held Jack to his chest, just over his heart.

Then he stole an entire cyber-conversion unit for Lisa.

Jack was terrified of the being inside that metal trap, the one Ianto lovingly kissed and smiled at and murmured sweet words to. He had never encountered the Cybermen before, but he knew enough about bio-implantation and mind control technologies to tell that Lisa was entirely gone. He knew there was no chance that she could be healed as Ianto wanted. Jack wished with every ounce of his being that he could turn back into a human at that moment, if only to save Ianto from the monster- he refused, even in his own thoughts, to call the alien that had killed Lisa by her name.

Ianto approached the director of Torchwood Three, a coldly professional half-Indian woman, and he was hired after a mere cursory glance over his file. Jack fumed about the lax hiring standards: although he was sure the director would eventually perform a background check, Jack would never have allowed anyone into the Hub before they were fully vetted. He wished he knew her name for when he was turned back into a human.

Ianto settled into Torchwood Three quietly. He served the other agents coffee, ordered their meals, organized their paperwork and took over the Archives. He moved the Cyberman into the basement and took on the responsibility of the Tourist Office so that he could covertly accept the medical deliveries he ordered under Torchwood’s licenses. Taking care of the Cyberman in addition to keeping up with several full-time jobs so as to not arouse suspicion meant that Ianto didn’t get as much sleep as he needed. The stress of the deception was also beginning to affect his eating habits and his emotional health. He was also constantly emotionally torn from remaining hopeful for Lisa and watching her seem to slide away. Ianto kept up a normal façade to the team, but Jack knew the truth.

Jack could do nothing but fret as Ianto slipped into depression. For as long as he’d been linked to the young man, feelings of loneliness and despair had been present, but they had receded after Jack had been reunited with him and even more so after Ianto had met Lisa. That was the reason he had finally accepted the woman in Ianto’s life: she did something for him something that Jack, with his love for Ianto so much larger than his current form, could never do. Ianto carried his trusty pocket watch everywhere at Torchwood Three, taking up the habit of curling Jack's fob around his fingers, and that proximity was their only comfort.

Three months into Ianto’s stay in Cardiff their director was shot by a police officer as she stood over the body of a young woman she had just murdered. The Cardiff team discovered that their leader was also responsible for the deaths of over a dozen people in the Cardiff area, all brutal murders.

Ianto had kept himself apart from the team and so the demise of his leader didn’t really affect him emotionally. But when he was putting away her autopsied body he had a flashback to the Battle of Canary Wharf and raced down to the Cyberman’s room, only to find his half-converted girlfriend deeply asleep and resistant to any attempts to awaken her. As he felt the strength of Ianto’s despair and loneliness and terror racing through his own small body, Jack yearned for the ability to cry along with Ianto in that dark room.

One of the other team members took over as director. The man was originally from UNIT and it was reflected in his leadership style, but his views on alien rights were much more liberal than those of the quasi-military organization. Jack was very grateful for this. The previous director hadn’t been xenophobic, but she had been very unlikely to take the extra risks necessary in the field to secure alien life when execution was safer and simpler.

Not long after her death, the team discovered an artifact that allowed whoever was holding it to view the echoes of the past, and in some cases the future. Their new leader declared it to be dangerous to the safety of the team and ordered it locked away. However, in the upheaval since the death of their previous leader the team had fallen behind on their paperwork, and no one had written up the incident report. Without any knowledge of the circumstances surrounding the retrieval, Ianto figured the artifact was benign and picked it up without taking any protective measures.

When Ianto froze in the middle of the Hub, Jack was filled with terror, but it wasn’t referred to him from Ianto. Suddenly, he couldn’t feel any emotions from the young man, in direct contrast to the last nineteen years. Only when the device released a gasping Ianto did fear and shock from the other man flood into Jack.

As soon as he’d caught his breath, Ianto reached into his pocket and gripped Jack so hard that his fob loop dug into Ianto’s hand. Ianto headed downstairs at a near-run, but instead of going to the Cyberman, as Jack had expected, he went to the archives. The artifact was dropped carelessly on a table, which scared Jack almost more than anything that had happened so far: Ianto was always fastidious about caring for artifacts.

Ianto sat down at the archive master computer and opened a search. When Jack heard his own name and title resonating through Ianto’s mind as it was entered into the search, he realized that Ianto must have seen an event in the Hub that concerned him and was struck by a terrible fear. What would Ianto think once he read Jack’s records and saw all the things he had done?

It took a long time for Ianto to read everything, even as much as Jack had edited his own records. When he reached the final report, which detailed the disappearance of Jack and his teammates, Ianto was silent and his emotions were too conflicted for Jack to understand them.

In the end, Ianto whispered something to the empty archives. Jack nearly burst with his desire to know what Ianto had said, but the emotions he sensed continued to be ambiguous.

When Ianto went to bed a few hours later, he slept the whole night with Jack held tightly over his heart.

Dozens of potential consultants had been vetted for the Cyberman; only one had qualifications that measured up to Ianto’s standards. The night the man arrived Ianto encouraged the team to go out for drinks, assuring them that he would close down the Hub when he left. As soon as they were clear, he let in the specialist.

Although he played genial and accommodating to the team, and then calm and collected to the doctor, Jack could sense his true feelings: Ianto was so tired from four and a half months of caring for his girlfriend. The Cyberman used Lisa’s voice and memories most of the time, but occasionally it slipped into a robotic voice and this convinced Ianto that she was deteriorating. He was heartsick and dreaded the specialist telling him that there was no way they could save her.

Since Ianto had no emotional connection to the man, Jack couldn’t glean his name, but his actions confirmed Ianto’s high estimation of his skills. In less than an hour the specialist had gotten the Cyberman off the ventilators. Ianto couldn’t have been more grateful and hopeful, but Jack knew that this was the worst thing he could have done.

As soon as it was not reliant on the machines to keep it alive, the Cyberman was free. It discarded the remnant emotional constraints of the host body. While Ianto rushed down the stairs to protect his lover, Jack was crying inside. He knew that even if by some stroke of luck Ianto survived a part of him would die that night.

After hiding the Japanese doctor’s body, Ianto returned to the Cyberman’s room to discover one of his colleagues deleted and another locked into the conversion unit. Ianto’s pain tore Jack apart as the Welshman pleaded for Lisa to free her captive. The Cyberman’s answer made Ianto freeze, not moving even as it approached him, even as it reached out to touch his shoulder, even as electricity stabbed through his body.

Jack gasped back to life, disoriented beyond any resurrection he’d ever felt. In an instant, he deduced what had happened: when the Cyberman had deleted Ianto, the shock was more than enough to kill him in his tiny form, and whatever powered his immortality had brought him back in his own human body.

He forced himself to look around the room, but once he’d ascertained that the Cyberman had left he could look at nothing but Ianto. Even the corpse of Ianto’s colleague- torn apart from a failed conversion and spreading blood over most surfaces in the room- could not distract him. The Welshman’s skin was paler than Jack had ever seen it, his soft pink lips parted, unmoving, his beautiful eyes closed forever. Jack wanted so horribly to touch him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Ianto,” he murmured. His tongue mangled the name- he hadn’t spoken in nearly three decades, plus it was Welsh, so he’d likely get it wrong anyway- but it was still the most beautiful word he’d ever heard. He closed his eyes and swallowed heavily.

During the last few months Jack had put his mostly idle mind to the question of killing a fully functioning Cyberman. He had come up with a plan, but he had no way of knowing whether it would work. First things first, though, he had to see if he could make it to the director’s office.

Forcing his unused muscles to bring him to his feet, Jack limped slowly toward the door. Even though he’d just come back to life, it seemed that the powers of his immortality couldn’t erase more than thirty years of disuse. His body ached, was rubbed raw by the very air, by his clothes, which were the same he’d worn on the day he’d been transformed into a pocket watch.

He didn’t look back as he left the room.

By the time he got to the main Hub, Jack found that the Cyberman had killed the director. The last living team member was firing indiscriminately at the monster, dodging electric shocks and retreating toward the open armory. Jack admired her fortitude and hoped that she could distract the Cyberman long enough for him to put his plan into action.

 

 

He painfully bent his fingers to his Vortex Manipulator, which looked none the worse for the years that he’d spent as a pocket watch. When he managed to stop shaking long enough to press the buttons, he unlocked the door to the secure archives. Ignoring the careful organization of the locker, Jack dragged out a large box- one that he had placed there himself nearly forty years previously- and set it on the desk, wincing at the thunk as the container hit the wood. He nearly cursed aloud when he saw the lock on the containment box, but he remembered his trusty Webley that was still strapped to his waist. Praying that the gun was still functioning after its years as a time piece, Jack aimed it at the lock, turned his head away and fired. The report echoed through the silence of the main Hub. As Jack scrabbled with the lock and shoved aside Costello’s glove to get to the knife, his heart pounded with terror that the sound might have attracted the attention of the Cyberman.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive.

 

 

Jack turned to chase the Cyberman and collapsed against the director’s desk. He gasped for air, flanks trembling with the effort he’d exerted in climbing the many stairs from the Cyberman’s room in the archives. His legs felt like they were on fire, but he squeezed his eyes shut and dug deep for the energy to stand. He set his eyes on the doorway. In three wobbling steps he grabbed hold of it and sagged against it, feeling completely drained.

The Hub was empty except for the deleted body of the director. The woman who had been fighting the Cyberman was gone. Jack felt a horrible foreboding and began to make his way, shaking and lurching, back to the basement room.

Screams and flashes of bright blue light as he approached made the captain hurry his lead-filled feet. The Cyberman was standing tall, its finger on the button that powered the conversion unit. The Torchwood agent- the woman from upstairs, Jack realized- was screaming so loudly that he wished he could cover his ears, but he didn’t blame her. He would scream if he were trapped in a cyber-conversion unit, too.

Jack moved forward, hoping against all hope that the Cyberman couldn’t hear his shuffling footsteps over the screaming. Killing himself and coming back again might do something for his muscle weakness and nerve sensitivity, but the woman didn’t have time for that. When he was close enough, Jack lifted his arm, squeezed the knife hard to control the shaking in his hand, and plunged it into the creature’s back where Lisa’s heart should have been.

The knife instantly glowed with the same electric light as the conversion unit, crackling energy that snapped up Jack’s arm and across the Cyberman’s body, and he was thrown backwards. The last thing he heard before he died was the agonized shriek of the Cyberman over the deep thunderclap of the knife coming to life, and the last thing he saw was the blinding white light that engulfed the monster.

When he gasped back to life, he was on his back several feet away from the body of the Cyberman, presumably where he had been thrown from the explosion. Electricity still crawled along its stolen form, but it didn’t move. After an eternity, only the knife, still crackling with blue power, showed any signs of life.

The woman’s gasps of fear finally broke through the ringing in his ears. “Get me out of here!” she begged.

He lifted his aching arm and punched in commands on his Vortex Manipulator that unlocked the conversion unit. The woman extricated herself carefully, avoiding a dozen horrifying tools for cutting and drilling. She approached Jack, steps shaking with the aftermath of adrenaline and fear.

“Who are you?” she rasped, falling to her knees at his side. Her eyes were wide and dark, frightened, but there was a strength in them that kept her voice steady and suspicious.

Jack hoped she would believe him because he didn’t have the power to fend off an attack at that moment.

“Captain Jack Harkness,” he replied in a weak voice. “And who are you?” Although he recognized her as one of Ianto’s colleagues, her name had never come through to him.

“Gwen Cooper,” she answered. She was clutching her knees and glancing back at the Cyberman every few seconds, but her earlier stubbornness facing the creature seemed to apply to Jack as well. “How did you get in here?”

Utter exhaustion weighed down Jack’s mind. “Doesn’t matter,” he whispered.

He turned his head. The knife had thrown him within reach of Ianto and he inched his arm along the bloody concrete until he could clutch Ianto’s wrist with his fingers.

If he had waited twenty years and didn’t get to touch the man he loved once, there would have been no reason for any of it.

Jack faintly heard Gwen’s exclamation as he slipped away, but his last thought was of the glorious warmth of Ianto’s skin.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack woke up slowly from sleeping for the first time in… he didn’t know exactly how long. And wasn’t it just wonderful to not know the time down to the second?  
  
The surface beneath him was soft and comfortable, the blankets above him thick and warm. Jack didn’t know why he wasn’t waking up in a Torchwood cell, but he was grateful. Too exhausted to open his eyes, he slipped back into a dreamless sleep.  
  
Some time later, he was woken again by a murmured conversation that was taking place not too far away.  
  
“He should have woken up by now. I’m afraid it really hurt him.” Jack recognized Gwen’s voice, but not the deep, melodic tones that answered her.  
  
“I read his file on the computers. It said he’s immortal.”  
  
“But how did he even get inside? You didn’t let him in as well, did you? Ianto?”  
  
Ianto didn’t answer, but now that Jack knew who he was he needed to wake up. He fought against the clutching dregs of sleep to open his eyes.  
  
“Jack?” A warm hand slipped into his and he nearly gasped. It was the first time someone had touched his body in three decades, and the sensation was so much stronger than his faded memories.  
  
“Ianto?” he whispered. His eyelids gave way at last and the first thing he saw was a pair of blue-gray eyes inspecting his face with concern. He tightened his fingers against the other man’s hand.  
  
“Do I know you?” Ianto asked. His eyes locked onto Jack’s and his voice was hushed with some sort of reverence. His thumb stoked over the back of Jack’s hand in exactly the same way as it had always stroked over his metal casing.  
  
“We’ve never met,” Jack answered. “But I’ve known you almost your entire life.”

 

 

Ianto stared at Jack in silence. “Gwen, could you pour Jack some of the soup from the pot on the stove? He must be hungry.”  
  
Jack didn’t hear the woman’s departure, completely overcome by the hollow feeling in the middle of his body.  
  
“Hungry,” he said wondrously. “I’m hungry. I’d forgotten what that felt like.”  
  
“Jack, who are you?” Ianto insisted quietly. “I feel like I’ve known you forever, but…”  
  
Jack had been thinking for years about what he’d say to Ianto if he was ever turned back into a human. “I want you to keep an open mind, all right?” he pleaded. “Remember, this is Torchwood.”  
  
Ianto nodded.  
  
“It was 1974. We were investigating a pattern of disappearances that went back to the early 40’s. We found the guy, he owned an antique shop in the city center called Lively Antiques. But instead of taking him in, he caught us. The team medic, the technician and I. Owen was turned into a teacup. Tosh was turned into a hat.”  
  
Ianto looked horrified. “And what about-”  
  
“Did you say  _a teacup_?” Gwen interrupted from the doorway. Steam was rising from the large bowl she cradled in her hands, but her attention was locked on Jack. “And Lively Antiques? I bought a teacup from that shop. Rhys wanted his mother to think-”  
  
“Porcelain, with black designs?” Jack struggled to sit up, but his muscles cramped. Instantly, Ianto was there to support him and help him settle against a few pillows.  
  
“I thought it looked quaint,” Gwen answered, looking rather pale. “Are you telling me I’ve been drinking out of a person for two years?”

 

 

Jack couldn’t answer. Ianto said gently, “Gwen, do you think you could go home and fetch that teacup? And anything else you may have bought from that shop?”  
  
The Welsh woman nodded, looking disoriented and disgusted, and set the soup on the bedside table before leaving.  
  
Ianto turned back to Jack. “You said you and your friends were… turned into things. How did that happen?”  
  
“I don’t know how he did it,” Jack admitted. “All I know is that we weren’t the first. None of us could speak, but we, all the supposed ‘antiques’ he was selling, we could sense each other. There must have been dozens of people in that shop, all being sold to the unsuspecting public as hats, rings, cutlery. One poor man was a welcome mat.” Jack shivered. “I can only imagine how horrible that must have been.”  
  
“You mean, you could feel it?” Ianto said in a hushed voice. “Everything that happened to you as an object, you knew?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jack whispered. “You could say I was one of the lucky ones. I never got hurt, like the pokers or the kitchen pans. But I…”  
  
“What happened to you, Jack?” Ianto squeezed his hand. “What were you?”  
  
Jack looked into Ianto’s blue-gray eyes, praying that the young man would believe him. “I was a pocket watch.”  
  
The look of understanding that came over Ianto’s face was like a balm to Jack’s soul. “My pocket watch…” he murmured. “I think… I think, somehow, I knew,” he said slowly. “I took you with me everywhere… I think, I must have known you were in there.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ve felt a connection to you since your third birthday party.”  
  
“I remember that!” Ianto looked at him with surprise. “I remember- oh my God, Jack, I bit you!”  
  
Jack laughed. He quickly started coughing, throat tired from his first conversation in thirty years, but he felt so light and free that it didn’t matter. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He coughed again, and by the end of the fit he could feel his eyes drooping again.  
  
“You need to rest,” Ianto said, brushing the blankets smooth over Jack’s body. “You’ve been through a lot in the past few days!”  
  
“I’m hungry,” Jack rasped.  
  
“Of course,” Ianto nodded, frowning. He helped Jack hold the soup bowl and took it away when Jack drifted off to sleep.

  


  
When Jack woke again, the light from the window was gone. He figured he’d slept through the rest of the day. Measuring his weakness, Jack decided to try and walk. He made it almost to the living room before he slumped against a wall.  
  
Ianto heard him falling and helped support him into the living room. Breathing hard with the exertion, Jack laid against the back of the couch while Ianto fussed over him with a blanket.  
  
Jack couldn’t take his eyes off the young man. When Ianto finally sat beside him he noticed Jack’s wide-eyed stare. “What is it?”  
  
“It wasn’t a dream?” Jack begged. “You’re alive?”  
  
Ianto nodded immediately. “I’m fine,” he assured.  
  
“But the Cyberman, it killed you.”  
  
“I was just stunned,” Ianto swallowed. “We- Gwen and I- we don’t know why… we think it might have been Lisa.”  
  
“She was dead, Ianto,” Jack said, apologetically but firmly. “I know you love her, but she was dead long before this happened.”  
  
Ianto’s expression was strained. “I know,” he said finally. “Gwen told me what happened while I was unconscious. I know my Lisa wouldn’t have killed-” he paused for a calming breath. “I know she wouldn’t have done that. But there must have been some small part of her left, that could still see me, or else I wouldn’t be here.”  
  
Jack thought it more likely that the Cyberman had been saving Ianto for conversion, but the pain and longing clearly shown on Ianto’s face told him that the young man was not ready to hear that.  
  
They were silent for a moment, both pondering could-have-beens. Then Ianto spoke mutedly. “I suppose we should be grateful, though. I guess the electricity was enough to break whatever happened to you, small as you were.”  
  
Jack shrugged, avoiding the subject. “Where’s Gwen?”  
  
Ianto cleared his throat. “She’s at the Hub, taking care of the- the bodies. Plus, it’s not like the Rift stops just because Torchwood is dead.”  
  
“Torchwood’s not dead,” Jack corrected with an ironic smile. “Torchwood never dies.”  
  
“But it’s just me and Gwen now,” Ianto protested. “We can’t possibly do it by ourselves!”  
  
“We’ll get Toshiko and Owen back,” Jack said forcefully. Then his voice softened. “And you have me now.” He felt Ianto still, and they stared at each other for a long moment.  
  
“Jack, why are you so calm about all of this?” Ianto’s low voice rumbled. “What’s happened to you… how are you still even sane?”  
  
“I had you,” Jack said softly. “From the moment you bit me, I could feel you. Even while I was trapped inside that box, I could sense you. Thirteen years, I was stuck in there, but you kept me sane, Ianto.”  
  
“So…” Ianto shook his head as he considered it. “You know… everything about me?”  
  
“I just know you.”  
  
“What does that mean?” Ianto said sharply. “You could read my mind?”  
  
“No!” said Jack quickly. “Not… really. I only heard your thoughts a few times. Mostly I just got emotions,” he finished weakly.  
  
“Since I was three, that’s nearly twenty years,” Ianto muttered, eyes wide. He looked at Jack, aghast. “You’ve been in my head that whole time?”  
  
Jack nodded, jaw clenched tight.  
  
“The Battle of Canary Wharf? Whenever I slept with Lisa? When my father died?”  
  
Jack could only keep nodding and watch Ianto grow paler and more appalled.  
  
“I- I can’t believe this,” the Welshman rasped. “Is there nothing you don’t know?”  
  
“I don’t know if you’ll forgive me,” Jack said honestly. “I’m so sorry, Ianto. I never wanted to do that to you, but it wasn’t something I could control.”  
  
The silence stretched out as Ianto thought and Jack felt the seams of his world straining. Even though he’d never felt more anxious, his body was exhausted, and before too long he was drifting off to sleep again. Ianto noticed.  
  
“We should get you back to bed.”  
  
Jack tried to stand, but gasped and had to sit again. “My muscles are cramped,” he explained.  
  
“I’ll help you.” Ianto supported him back to the bedroom, where he arranged the blankets around him again.  
  
For the first time, Jack thought to look around the rooms. “We’re in your flat?”  
  
“I… I wanted you close,” Ianto said softly. Jack was so tuned in to Ianto’s mind that he didn’t even need their connection to know how the younger man was feeling. As Ianto turned to leave, Jack caught his arm.  
  
“Please, Ianto. I know you’re probably not comfortable with this- I mean, I‘ve been invading your privacy for your entire life-”  
  
“No,” Ianto interrupted. “I… know you didn’t have a choice. I don’t blame you for that,” he said, meeting Jack’s eyes. A tense knot of fear relaxed in the captain’s mind.  
  
“And… I think I could feel you, too,” continued Ianto. “When I was sad, it felt like someone was trying to cheer me up. When I was hurt, someone was angry on my behalf. It helped with the loneliness.”  
  
“Can you stay here for a while?” Jack asked. “Just until I fall asleep. You always…”  
  
“Sleep with you over my heart,” Ianto finished. “I never knew why I did that.”  
  
Jack held his breath and tried not to look too pleading. He knew he shouldn’t ask this of Ianto, but he just needed to be close to the other man.  
  
After a long minute of staring at Jack and thinking deeply, Ianto nodded. He drew up the blankets and slid into the bed. Jack shifted up so that his head was on Ianto’s chest, his ear directly above the calm pulsing of Ianto’s heart. He sighed in satisfaction, and felt Ianto’s hand tentatively stroking along his as he fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Three weeks later, Jack slumped over one of the workstations in the Hub. Another battery of test had failed on the Owen-cup and he was starting to lose hope.

Ianto’s hand smoothed over the back of his neck and Jack sighed. “We can’t just leave him like this. We can’t leave any of them like this!” he gestured to Gwen’s table and the various objects that sat upon it.

The last three weeks had been a whirlwind. As Jack struggled to get used to his body again, Ianto and Gwen were left to police the Rift alone. Jack had taken over coordinating from the Hub and all the paperwork, as well as going through documents they’d stolen from Bilis Manger’s shop to find all the people who’d been sold. Although Jack was all for mounting an immediate attack, it was Gwen who stopped him.

“If there’s one thing I learned from Ethan it’s never to mount an offensive attack until you’ve got a strong defense,” she told Jack. Her voice was firm despite the mention of the recently deceased leader of Torchwood, with whom she’d been close. “We can’t stop Manger until we know how he’s turning people into things, and we can defend ourselves against him. At the very least, we ought to be able to take him prisoner for the cure.”

She and Jack had fought about it at length until Ianto’s deciding vote was cast in her favor. “We’ll do no one any good if we get ourselves turned into key chains,” he had reasoned.

Now, he stayed silent while Jack vented.

“There are over a hundred people, Ianto! We’ve only found twenty-five! What if we can’t find them? What happens to them if they’re destroyed in this form? What about Toshiko?” he demanded.

Despite all the papers he’s looked through from Manger’s files, copied quickly with an alien device while the man was out for lunch, Jack hadn’t been able to track down the man who’d bought Tosh.

“We will find them, Jack,” Ianto said soothingly, “if only because we’ll never stop looking.”

“I could never stop looking,” Jack turned to speak directly to Ianto. “No one should be forced to live like that.”

Ianto stared back, eyes intense. After the uncomfortable revelation of Jack’s knowledge into Ianto’s life, the Welshman had been quiet and distant for several days. Jack had been able to see as clearly as if it were written on Ianto’s face that he was still completely torn up over Lisa, even if he was trying to hide it from both Jack and Gwen. Jack had offered to lend an ear, and ended up spilling his own life’s story. As Jack talked more about himself, Ianto seemed to relax around him.

Jack remembered the long hours they’d spent, talking through the nights when neither could sleep. He’d been almost unable to stop himself from telling Ianto everything about his immortality, his time as Ianto’s pocket watch, everything he knew about Lisa’s condition. Ianto was unsettled by the outpouring of information, as the records he’d read on the captain indicated him to be an intensely private person. He’d confronted Jack about it, and Jack had admitted that it felt unfair for him to know everything about Ianto while Ianto knew nothing about him in return.

“We will find them, Jack, I swear.” Ianto let his fingers slip under the silver chain that was hidden from view beneath Jack's shirt collar. When Jack had found the chain in the pocket of his greatcoat Ianto had tried to apologize, only for Jack to fashion it into a necklace he could wear at all times.

Jack shivered at the contact, then stood up and pulled Ianto into a hug. Ianto ran his hands over the captain’s back, bumping over the muscles that had tightened from stress until they felt hard as bone.

Jack pressed closer. His long incarceration had created within him a need for constant touch that he had never experienced before the transformation. He tucked his head into Ianto’s neck and spoke into his ear.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” he confessed. “I would’ve fallen apart by now. I handled it while it was happening, I even pretended it was just an extended vacation from Torchwood. I think if I hadn’t I’d have gone insane. But now…” He just shook his head.

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” Ianto told him. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

Jack looked up and smiled at Ianto‘s confident and gentle expression. Then he carefully let his lips press against Ianto’s. The younger man looked surprised, but didn’t move when Jack pulled back. “Reactions?” the captain asked.

Ianto blinked slowly. “I can’t do this, Jack.”

Jack’s heart plummeted. “Because of the reading your mind thing?”

Ianto stepped back, running his hands over his suit. “Not because of that, although… no, it’s not that.” He looked up at Jack, who was still watching him without understanding. “It’s Lisa, Jack. I love her, and it’s been less than a month since… I can’t even say it.”

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Lisa,” Jack said sincerely. “And I know this is new to you, but I’ve loved you for twenty years, Ianto.”

“I know,” Ianto frowned. “I know. I could feel it. I still do. And… this is all confusing, Jack.” He looked into the captain’s eyes and his frown softened. “I’m not saying no. Because I do have feelings for you, but I don’t understand them, and this isn’t a good time.”

Jack nodded. “I understand.” He looked at the workstation forlornly, feeling awkward.

“Come here,” Ianto said gruffly, pulling Jack into a hug. There was an extra moment of placing and rearranging limbs, but soon it was just as comfortable as it had been before Jack had kissed him. “This is alright.”

“Good,” Jack whispered, turning his face into Ianto’s neck again. Ianto chuckled and held him a little tighter.

“You know,” he remarked after a few seconds. “If you say you’ve loved me for twenty years, that makes you sound a bit like a paedo.”

Jack was laughing uproariously when the Hub began to fill with the sound of the Tardis. Despite the rush of excitement, Jack rolled his eyes and quipped, ‘He always did have he worst timing!’ before dragging Ianto over to the invisible lift.

As the lift- and the Tardis on it- descended, the door opened and a man dressed in suspenders and a bowtie barely caught himself on the doorframe before he fell out. Jack stared at the man in amazement, recognizing him as the person who had bough Toshiko, all those years ago.

“Doctor?” he said incredulously.

 

 

“Hello Jack!” the Time Lord called back. When the lift reached the floor, he stepped out and gestured inside the Tardis. “I’ve brought back a friend of yours.” A short Asian woman emerged from the blue box.

“Tosh!” Jack cried. The two friends rushed together, nearly crashing into each other. They held each other close for several long moments while Ianto and the Doctor looked on.

“How did this happen?” Jack’s voice was muffled by the top of Toshiko’s head.

“The Tardis always knows when someone comes inside her. Right after I lose my fez, I get a new one, but then she tells me the new one isn’t even a real hat!” the Doctor said indignantly.

“I thought the Tardis was a ship, how does she talk?” Ianto asked, sparking a moment of awkward silence.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Tosh stepped away from Jack and went to introduce herself to Ianto. “Toshiko Sato.”

“I’m Ianto Jones, the one who’s been carrying Jack around the past few years.” Ianto shook her hand. “He’s told me a lot about you.”

Tosh smiled. “It seems like we have a lot to talk about. Why don’t we leave them alone for a while?”

Jack saw Ianto looking to him for approval, but his eyes were hungrily locked on the fidgeting Time Lord.

“I’ll make a pot of coffee,” Ianto said to Tosh, and they left Jack and the Doctor alone.

An hour and a half later, Jack walked into the conference room, exhausted. Ianto handed him a fresh coffee, which Jack accepted silently. Tosh sipped from her own mug, just watching the interaction.

Ianto led Jack to the table and sat them both down. After a long silence, Jack spoke. “He says he can change the others back,” the captain said in a low voice.

“Tosh told me about the scanner she rigged that can detect those people Manger changed,” Ianto replied softly.

Jack gave him a weak smile and nodded contemplatively, staring into his coffee.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” Ianto asked.

Jack shook his head. “He’s taking Manger to the Shadow Proclamation. Turns out that all the people he kidnapped and transformed breaks one of their thousands of clauses or conventions or articles or...” The hint of anger that had crept into his voice faded away wearily.

“I argued against it,” Tosh told them unhappily, “but he insisted. I’m sorry Jack, I know you want to deal with him yourself. I certainly did.” Her hands clenched around the coffee mug.

“That’s not all, though, is it Jack?” Ianto inquired gently, watching Jack‘s face.

Jack didn‘t even blink. “He can’t fix me.”

Ianto took Jack’s hand, but glanced over at Toshiko. Jack noticed. “She knows about me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tosh said, quietly but honestly. “I know how long you waited for him.”

“Are you going with him, then?” Ianto whispered, unable to stop his hand from clenching around Jack’s.

Jack looked up into Ianto’s eyes and swore. “I’m staying with you.”

After being introduced to Gwen, Toshiko and the Doctor set up the equipment they needed to turn all the inanimate objects back into people. Since most of them had been able to listen to Jack, Ianto and Gwen trying to fix them over the past few weeks, they were calm enough when they could move again. They brought back Owen first, and after resting for a while he insisted on performing medical checks on all the other people who were brought back to life.

There were side effects. Several of the victims had gone insane. Some had been objects for twice as long as Jack and Owen and there was no way to heal their minds. Along with these were the people whose objects had been abused on a daily basis- after reanimating the two men who’d been turned into a walking stick and a kettle Gwen had been found in the kitchen bawling her eyes out. Seven people out of the first twenty-five had to be taken to mental institutions. Jack signed the confirmation that their care would be paid for by Torchwood with his teeth gritted against the feelings of helplessness.

Some of the others were less damaged. Most of them accepted retcon and cover stories, allowing themselves to forget the years they had spent unable to move or breathe. Owen was one of this group.

“I’ll stay on until we find all the others,” he promised Jack, although the captain had assured him it wasn’t necessary. “I just can’t live with this,” he said in a haunted voice. Then, he tried to joke. “And I certainly don’t need Gwen bloody Cooper’s voice in my head all day. You wouldn’t believe how that woman natters on.”

Just as Jack had with Ianto, for the last two years Owen had been able to feel Gwen’s emotions. Two more of the victims were in the same boat: a tourist from Manchester, Amanda, had been turned into a pair of eyeglasses and Marshall, an English professor, had become the engagement ring of a young lady. The eyeglasses had belonged to a bachelor, and Amanda wanted to retain her memories so that she could be with him, but the woman who had worn her engagement ring for twenty years was still happily married. Marshall, who was deeply in love with her, didn’t want to hurt her relationship with her husband, and also asked for retcon.

“I can’t believe this mess,” Tosh confided to Ianto as they used her scanner and a satellite to find the second batch of people-turned-objects. “I mean, I was a hat for four years, and that was…” she trailed off until Ianto gently patted her elbow. “If it weren’t for the Doctor and the Tardis, I don’t think I would have handled it anywhere near as well as I have. But poor Marshall,” she remembered the gentle-eyed man who had taken his retcon that morning. “I can’t even imagine-” she broke off into a sob.

Ianto offered a hug and held her as she shivered, watching the tracking program on the monitor over her shoulder. He was getting used to comforting people, since the Hub was filled with people who were just coming out of traumatic experiences. The Torchwood team and the Doctor were stretched to the limit with retconning the victims and making up cover stories.

If he was honest, the long hours of working and taking care of others were helping him. The plight of the transformed humans, especially what he learned from his long conversations with Jack, was giving him insight into how Lisa must have felt while she’d been trapped in the conversion unit. He found himself accepting that it was better for her to have passed on then to live in the suit any longer.

No amount of understanding could help him with the grief, but that was a job that Jack had claimed.

Part of Ianto felt guilty for starting another relationship so soon after Lisa’s death, but being with Jack didn’t feel new. It felt like they’d been together forever. Ianto decided that he must have subconsciously been able to sense Jack’s presence as his stopwatch- nothing else could explain the sense of safety and completeness he felt with the other man that had been faintly echoed during his entire life, even when he’d felt most alone.

He had nervously described the feeling to Jack, afraid of sounding too emotional and scaring the older man away. But Jack had understood, even concurred with the assessment.

“As close as we were, even if you didn’t know I was there, I don’t think there’s a way I could have not loved you,” he admitted one evening as they sat close together on Ianto’s couch. Jack’s head was on Ianto’s chest like always, and Ianto stroked his neck and the fob necklace with a thumb- he’d discovered that that move could made Jack purr if he was tired enough.

“Does that make you feel manipulated?” asked Ianto. “Like you didn’t have a choice?”

“A little,” Jack admitted. “But I love you. However that came about, I can’t stop it, and I can’t feel anything but happy about it.” He looked up at Ianto’s face. “You’re thinking about Owen, aren’t you?”

Ianto nodded, pondering his new colleague. “You, Owen, Marshall and Amanda all said you felt a connection with the person who bought you. Owen’s the only one who says he didn’t fall in love.”

Jack sighed. “Gwen has a fiancé.”

“You think he’s lying?” Ianto sounded surprised. “He wants retcon for the same reason as Marshall, so that he won’t hurt Gwen?”

“More likely so that he won’t get hurt,” Jack corrected. “He knows she won’t leave Rhys.”

“I hope working with her doesn’t trigger the retcon,” Ianto commented after a few minutes of thought.

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Jack decided, shifting so that his legs tangled with Ianto’s and he was looking at Ianto’s face. “For now, let’s be optimistic.”

“We’ve turned back everyone Manger transformed,” Ianto smiled. “Everyone who needs care is getting it, most everyone else has been retconned. Amanda and her near-sighted man are engaged in a whirl-wind romance. Owen’s retconning is planned for tomorrow, and after he wakes up Tosh is going to travel with the Doctor.”

“And we’re here,” Jack finished, smiling.

Ianto felt a quiet urge in his gut, one that he’d been pushing aside for days. With Jack’s clear blue eyes shining up at him, skin glowing in the dim light, he finally felt like the moment was right to give in, and he leaned forward to kiss Jack softly on the lips. Jack touched his cheek, and Ianto kissed him again. Any thoughts of further conversation slipped away quietly into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! Hope you enjoyed! If you did, hop on over [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4828256) for my latest Janto WIP! Call it a birthday present ;)


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